


Play By My Rules

by coveredbyroses



Series: 2018 SPNKinkBingo [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Dom Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, F/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Punishment, Smut, Spreader Bars, Tumblr: spnkinkbingo, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: You eat the last slice of pie. Dean isn't too happy about it.





	Play By My Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Created for spnkinkbingo.

You really shouldn’t, it’s like some kind of…betrayal of trust isn’t it? But it’s ten p.m and you’re  _starving_.

You’re bent over, face-to-face with the crumb littered pie tin, the last remaining slice of cherry pie sitting enticingly before you. You purse your lips as the chill of the fridge nips at your nose and cheeks while you struggle with your dilemma.

Dean would no doubt be pissed, but he and Sam had both passed out early, exhausted from a siren hunt that had stretched out an entire week. You’ll make it up to him tomorrow, you decide. You can make a trip to the store first thing in the morning - you’ve put off the grocery shopping for too long anyway.

**********

You’re at the sink, rinsing off the fork, having just finished your late-night treat when you feel a presence behind you -

“What’re ya doin’?” You jolt at the deep rumble of Dean’s sleep-graveled voice, the utensil clattering unnervingly loud against stainless steel. You whirl around, heart pounding—

“ _Shit,_  Dean!” you gasp, “You scared the hell outta me!”

He’s standing no more than five feet away, clad in a white tee and gray sweats. He squints at you, still a bit disoriented from his recent slumber.

You take steadying breath, “What’s the matter?”

“M’hungry,” he grumbles.

Shit.  _Forget you had pie, forget you had pie._

You watch him as he shuffles to the fridge, as he heaves the tall door open. You hold your breath as he stands motionless in front of the now-empty rack where the pie had been.

“Where’s the pie?” he rasps into the chilled compartment, voice a little more even, a little more lucid.

“Umm…” you not-so-eloquently reply.

He swings the door shut, silencing the low hum, turning to face you. “Sweetheart…” his voice is accusing. “Where’s my pie? I had one slice left.” His eyes are stone-cold.

“Okay. Technically, it wasn’t  _your_  pie, it was for all of us to share,” you explain. “Which we did - I just…happen to have just finished…my share. Just now.” You can only imagine how guilty you look with the nervous grimace plastered on your face.

Dean takes a slow, predatory step toward you, head cocked to the side, stoney expression etched into his handsome features. “I bought that pie,” he says lowly, “with my hard-earned pool winnings. That last piece was  _mine.”_

You manage a thick swallow before breathing out an anxious laugh.

“Oops?”

**********

“Oops,” Dean mimics fifteen minutes later as fastens the cuffs around your small wrists, testing the chain attached to the dungeon’s ceiling with a quick, solid jerk.

You’re not sure how you ended up naked and chained in the bunker’s prison — over a slice of pie no less. Not sure why you’d blindly followed him down the winding hallways, why you’d just  _stood_  there while he stripped you bare.

But here you are. Payback, he’d said. This was payback.

He gives you an approving grunt as forest green eyes rove over you, and then he’s turning away, heading back for the door.

You’re left dumbfounded when the latch clicks shut. Is this seriously his idea of punishment? To leave you naked and alone in the chilly dungeon? In solitary confinement?

It’s a bit primitive, you think.

Dean’s only gone for about five minutes when the jiggling doorknob alerts you to his return. The first thing you notice is that he’s fully dressed again, clad in his usual layered shirts, blue jeans, and brown work boots.

The second thing you notice is the gleaming metal bar tucked under his right arm and the black cloth bag dangling from the fingers of his left hand.

“W-what’s that?” Your voice is abnormally high and a bit shaky. It’s barely there, but you don’t miss the smirk that curves his full lips.

“Patience, sugar.” He swings the bag onto the table by the entrance - whatever is inside must be somewhat heavy because it makes a low clunk as it hits the surface.

You feel your muscles tense when he advances on you with the mysterious strip of metal. Upon closer inspection, you see that there are two leather cuffs at each end of the rod.

Fuck - it’s a goddamned spreader bar.

“Woah, hey-” You’re getting nervous now —well, more nervous. “Look, I’m cuffed-” You rattle your chains for emphasis. “I can’t get…I mean — that’s not really necessary, is it?”

The smirk returns to his face as Dean slowly kneels to your feet where he gets a big hand around your right ankle, fitting it inside the restraint.

“You wanted to play, honey.” Dean says. “And if you’re gonna play, you’re gonna play by  _my_  rules.”

“The hell — Jesus, I wasn’t… _playing_ anything!” you exclaim. “I literally ate a snack—”

“ _My_  snack,” he corrects, working your left ankle into the leather cuff.

“Things aren’t automatically yours just because you like them,” you bite.

“It’s common knowledge, babydoll. You know me well enough by now — if there’s ever one slice left, it’s mine.”

You don’t have a response for him now because he’s tightening the straps around your ankles, and then locking the small dangling padlocks on each side with echoing clicks.

Dean rises to tower over your much smaller frame, brings a hand up to sweep the stray hair from your eyes. A molten wave of excitement suddenly rolls through you at your pridacement; naked and completely immoblilized, spread open just for  _him_.  

“You know you can use your ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card anytime, right?” His gaze softens as he locks his eyes on yours; he’s offering you an out.

But it’s been a week since you’ve seen him — let alone ‘played’ with him. And it’s safe to say that you’re…curious.

You look up at him from under your lashes, “Guess I’ve been a bad girl,” you shrug. You feel the mischievious smirk twitch at your lips. “Show me whatcha got.”

You watch as his pupils blow, drowning out calm green with lust-driven black. He directs an icy smile at you as he backs away, a kind of wordless threat that leaves you a little light-headed as he heads for the table.

His back is to you, so you can’t see what he’s doing, can only watch his shoulders roll as he moves — but you do catch him tossing the black bag to the side, and there’s a brief glimpse of a white cord as he turns around—

Oh. Oh shit.

It’s your vibrating wand. You weren’t even sure he knew you  _had_  the thing. You only use it when he’s gone…shit, did you leave it out?

Your chest is starting to heave with labored breaths and he can probably  _smell_  the tension grating in your muscles. He waves the sex toy in front of you as he approaches, shoulders relaxed, expression smug.

“Found your little friend,” he says, then purses his lips, eyes flicking up toward his brows as he muses, “Although I’m not sure you two are gonna be on such good terms by the time we’re finished here.”

Icy heat prickles underneath your skin at the insinuation and you feel the first wave of slick gathering between your spread thighs.

He’s kneeling at your feet again, and you’ve just noticed the coil of black duct tape circling his right forearm, just below the elbow.

He fits the vibrator against the fleshy inside of your left thigh, holding it to you with one hand while he rips off a strip of tape with the other. You watch him, dry-mouthed and slack-jawed as he secures the toy to your leg, the bulbous head nestled cool and smooth against your clit. It’s wide enough that it nearly, but not quite reaches your opening.

Dean moves behind you and you can make out the plastic clatter of the wire rattling against the floor and then you hear the thump of the plug inserting into the outlet in the wall.

The adhesive pulls and itches at your skin, and your arms are starting to burn from the stretch, but you don’t utter your discomfort, the heavy weight of anticipation stifling any voice you have at the base of your throat.

He rounds to your front, pulling his cell from his back pocket. “Now, before we start — here are my rules — well,  _rule_ …there’s only one. You aren’t allowed to come. At all.”

 _What_.

He waves the phone at you, “I’m gonna set the timer for five minutes. If you can take it without coming, you’re off the hook. Scot-free. But if you  _do_  come, I start the timer over. You do it again, I start over. Every time. Until you  _can’t_  anymore…or until you pass out — whatever. You understandin’ me, sweetheart?”

_Shit._

“O-okay.” He gives you a questioning look. “Yes, I uh…I understand,” you nod.

He flashes you an almost too-bright grin and then he’s leaning down to click the thing on. You gasp, your entire body  _lurching_  at the sudden buzz, the vibration settling into every nerve ending, concentrating at your core.

His green eyes glint with something between desire and amusement as he watches you jerk and twitch. Your eyes roll back, so consumed with the inescapable pleasure that you don’t realize his fingers are moving toward the switch again—

This time you  _squeal_ , the vibrator now on the highest setting and  _Jesus_ , it feels like your pussy is  _melting._

And he hasn’t started the timer yet.

“ _Oh!_ Oh fuck, Dean!” you moan, “I - I don’t think…oh goddd—I don’t think I can do this…”

You can barely hear it under the loud hum, but he rumbles out a deep chuckle, “Oh, we’ll see…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that will help you ignore the incessant buzzing between your legs, but the sensory deprivation only seems to amp up the thrumming friction against your flesh.

When you open your eyes again, Dean is seated at the table; legs propped up and crossed at his booted ankles, bulging arms crossed over his chest, lips twisted in a half-smirk as he watches you with unblinking eyes.

You can feel the heat of his gaze burning into you, setting your already heated skin aflame, coaxing a thin sheen of sweat from your pores.

Your hands jerk at the chains, the metal rattling faintly under the groaning drone of the vibrator.

You work at keeping your lips pressed together, repeatedly swallowing down the moans rising from the bottom of your throat — you know from experience that if you get loud, it’ll only push you that much further toward the edge.

Your hips absently twitch back in a futile attempt to escape the pulsing pleasure, the chains above you creaking with your movements. Low groans are slowly making their way past your lips as the gravelly vibration melts into a kind of tingly-hot numbness — almost as if you can no longer feel the tremor, just the prickling heat it produces.

You have no idea how much time has passed; it could be thirty seconds, could be an hour — you’re just so quivery-slick with pleasure that time ceases to exist in your lust-fogged mind.

The noises pouring from your mouth grow louder by the second, and suddenly  _Sam_  pops into your brain — oh god, what if he can hear you? You can just imagine your rising moans bleeding down the hallways to filter under his bedroom door…fuck, you wouldn’t be able to face him ever again—

You lose focus on that thought because you’re keening now, high in your throat, the electric waves settling deep in your bones. Your hips buck on their own accord and then — fuck, then the head slips a little, through your slick to nudge right against your entrance, sending the pulsing current straight up inside—and shit, you can feel it in your  _spine_ , coiling up-up-up until reaches the base of your skull.

You’re right  _there_ , right at the precipice, and without thinking, you lock eyes with Dean — who winks, fucking  _winks_  at you—

It’s happening, you  _know_ it’s happening, but in a last-ditch effort, you try to smother it—

_“Please-please-no-please—”_

Too late.

“Oh  _goddd!”_ Every muscle turns to steel as the powerful orgasm grips you. It’s the kind of orgasm that you have to grit your teeth through, that locks up your lungs until you can feel the blood pounding in your head, feel your pulse thundering in your ears as your pussy clenches around nothing.

And you can’t even come down from it, the device still whirring strong — and  _painful_  now — against you.

“Fuck, Dean—please!” you cry, “I can’t—I can’t fucking take it!”

The sound of the chair scraping against the concrete is faint under the electric buzz of the vibrator, and in a few short strides, Dean is in front of you once again.

You let out a shuddering gasp of relief when he clicks the toy off, but you can still feel the pulsing thrum, like it’s been imprinted into every cell in your body.

You struggle to keep your fluttering, exhausted eyelids open, but then Dean’s deep baritone reaches your ears—

“You were so close, honey. Only had thirty seconds left.”

It takes some effort, but you manage a humorless laugh, “Close enough, right?”

His smile is grim as he shakes his head. “I’ll give you…” he bobs his head from side to side as he thinks, “two minutes to recover. Then…” he wiggles his phone tauntingly at you.

Fuck.

**********

Sweat trickles down the length of your flushed body in thin rivulets, your hair clinging to your forehead and cheeks in soaked clumps. You lost count after your fifth climax; you think you may have had more, but they’d turned into these mini tingling spasms that barely registered in your fatigued body, your muscles weakly twitching in response.

You’re stiff all over and painfully raw between your thighs—you’ll be surprised if you’re not bleeding when this finally ends. There’s a dull, throbbing ache in your shoulders from being suspended for so long and your wrists smart from the metal cuffs.

But you’re proud of yourself; proud for not using your safeword one time through this whole ordeal. Proud for pleasing Dean — and giving him some much-needed entertainment after a week of hunting monsters.

You jolt a little at the sensation of warm hands on you, surprised to find yourself at the brink of unconsciousness, even with the vibrator still humming at your flesh.

And then, with a click, the humming is gone, quickly followed by the duct tape peeling easy from your sweat-slick skin. Your knees buckle when you’re released from the spreader bar, your shoulders pulling painfully as you drop — but then Dean gets an arm around your waist to steady you,

“Easy, sweetheart, I gotcha.”

Your arms feel like lead when the handcuffs unclasp from your wrists. And the ache in your shoulders intensifies with new movement as you let them drop to hook around the back of Dean’s neck.

He just holds you there, your head dipped into his chest, whispering praises into your ear as he smoothes your tacky hair from your face.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs. “You did so  _good_  for me.”

A sleepy smile blooms across your face at his words, pride settling deep in your gut. He bends down then, gets one arm around your waist and the other around the backs of your thighs, then heaves you up, cradling you against the warm expanse of his chest.

“C’mon,” he says, carrying you towards the door, “let’s getcha outta here. You thirsty?”

“Yeah.”

“Hungry?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You don’t want any pie? I bought extra. Apple - s’ in the freezer.”

You jerk your head back to look him square in the eye, shocked grin blossoming across your face,

“You fucking  _asshole.”_


End file.
